Sex Burns Calories
by Rhen Nightshade
Summary: America and Russia decide, on an apparent whim... Well, to play the Random Question Game. And it's destined to be... well, interesting, to say the least, at the very first question: "Америка, who was your first? Were you on top or bottom?"
1. It Begins

**Hello~ It's Moonsilk- Yaoi-Lover, even though I've changed my name to Rhen Nightshade. Please note the uniquely personalized AN and take the time to read it, it's important.**

**Anyway, this is a roleplay that my wonderful beta and great friend, elepaio. It is **_**RussiAmerica**_**. I was America, and elepaio, Russia. This started with no plot whatsoever, but we gave it something resembling a plot, so don't kill us for a bit of randomness for the first few questions. Be assured, those first few are smutty and thus allowed to be random.**

**SO. You need to know the setting: Basically, right now, they're IM-ing. And they're playing the Random Question Game: You ask a question, the other person answers, and then you answer as well. Russia's in Moscow, America's in DC. The title has nothing to do with anything... well, kinda but not. Elepaio came up with it because of something later, but then you'll have to wait for that... da?**

**Important roleplay notes:  
**Blah, blah, blah: **Talking, or in this instance, typing. When they see each other, this'll be written in more of a storylike form than in chats.  
**'_Blah blah blah'_: **Thoughts. Not emphasized words, thoughts. Look for the little apostrophes, they signal the difference.  
***Whatever, whatever, whatever*: **Actions. Whatever they're doing. Again, when they're in person, we'll use a story-form syntax.**

**Okay, now that I've talked your ear off: Go read! It has something for **_**everyone**_**, I swear: For the crack-and-kink queen, for smut-lovers, humor-attracted people and the like. Seriously.**

**elepaio's A/N: I cannot believe that we are actually posting this. I'm extremely embarrassed, because it's my first time writing anything quite so blatantly **_**raunchy**_**. I say that the category should be Sex/Pervertedness, they need that category!**

**Oh, and one last thing that's worth mentioning – we're both well aware that the internet cannot be accessed when traveling by plane, so technically Russia and America should not be able to continue IM-ing… Please disregard this. It works because of England's random magic or some top-secret Russian-American communications network which functions at high altitudes, okay? *is promptly shot***

* * *

**Russia**: Америка, who was your first? Were you on top or bottom?

**America**: H- hey! What's with that question? *Glares* *Rocks back in chair* Iggy. And I refuse to answer that second... thing!

**Russia**: Hnn~ *hums through teeth* My first was the Mongolian empire. Obviously, I was on the bottom... You know I still bear the scars.

**America**: *Refuses eye contact with the screen*

**Russia**: *Smirks ever so slightly* Your turn, Америка.

**America**: *Thinks for a minute* *Leans forward to rest head on hands on table* Most compromising position ever to be found in?

**Russia**: *stares expressionlessly at America, tone mockingly bland* Ah yes. You should remember it well... It was 1964, and I was visiting because our leaders were discussing a ridiculous disarmament policy or some similarly trivial affair. As I recall, you decided that we really couldn't wait to get back to my hotel room, and we ended up in the President's suite. *blinks at the screen in a conniving fashion* It was one of the rare occasions where you topped, and I believe I was tied to the headboard and you had a gun up my ass when the President walked in... yes. That was a tricky one to word your way out of, was it not, dear Америка?

**America**: *Stares blankly* I had wiped that from my mind for eternity, thank you very much. *Scowls, slowly turning red* *Mutters, talking to self, not bothering to get mad at Russia because he will just do something to blow him off* Stupid idiot and his memory... Stupid self for thinking of the question... Very stupid self for asking the question... Fucking question.

**Russia**: *smirks innocently* I love you too, _darling_. *pronounces the last word like a cruel joke*

**America**: *Kicks back in chair, legs slam down on the table* I was _going_ to say that time when England and I were still together, we had to... Invade China for our bosses. At the same time. And then Japan walked in. *Shivers*

**America**: I was mortified, England, who was still somewhat in Pirate mode, just smirked. And then Japan decided to join.

**America**: *Looks around in slightly disgusted shock* I mean, who would have thought? China is his _brother_!

**America**: *Remembers he's supposed to be mad at Russia and then looks away again*

**Russia**: *eyes narrow in amusement* How very... _interesting_, Америка. Triple penetration... I would not envy China, after that incident.

**Russia**: I myself have never participated in such... _vulgar_ activities.

**America**: Japan decided to fuck China in the mouth, and I did not *Shudder* need to imagine what it must have felt like to China.

**Russia**: ... *for once America's willingness to blabber whatever emerges in his head has silenced him*

**Russia**: Your... your question. *he blinks once, rapidly and hard, as if to eradicate the mental image of America's most compromising situation* What is your favorite position? Although I'm almost positive I already know~…

**America**: *Unwillingly turns bright red* If you know, then why are you asking? Do you want me to jog your memory or something? *Rants for a minute about fucking accurate Russian memories*

**America**: *Talks enough for his short-term memory to violently refuse to think about the question*

**Russia**: Ah... I was just wondering if you actually preferred a different position than twisting and shrieking beneath me, hands tearing into the sheets. Or sometimes the skin on my back... that is rather unpleasant, Америка. You can't seem to prevent yourself from panting and drooling, and your eyes are always unraveling, like you can't quite remember who you are. *offers up a shallow smirk* You are very pretty when you writhe and beg and scream, you know that?

**Russia**: I was just curious, because you always seem to end up in this position... so is there one that is more to your liking?

**Russia**: *sinister smirk*

**America**: *Violently recalls question and shuts up* *Glares, still red* N- no. *Proceeds to curse self for honesty*

**Russia**: My favorite.. hnn~... I especially liked that time when I tied your hands to the leg of the World Conference table with a scarf. You were bent over as if on all fours but your arms were up above your head, and I was on top of you... one hand around your chest, the other on the floor to brace myself. *slowly adjusts his scarf, eyes narrowed and glittering* Yes, I am nearly positive that this was my favorite. Would you be willing to try it again sometime~?

**Russia**: *blinks coolly* It's only an eleven-hour flight from Moscow to Washington, you know.

**America**: *Runs a hand through his hair* Do whatever you want.

**America**: ... Wait! I did not just say that!

**America**: I did NOT think that through! I did NOT say that!

**America**: I was just trying to defle- I WASN'T SAYING THAT EITHER!

**America**: *Head hits the back of his chair* *Was obeying the conditioning to "Act first, think later"*

**Russia**: *grins, genuinely pleased* Do not try to take it back. It has been too long, dear Америка. Expect me in thirteen hours at your capitol's airport.

**Russia**: And I am intending to take this laptop as carry-on... *smirks suggestively*

**America**: . . . *Decides not to think about it*

**America**: ANYWAY... Favorite food and why? Alcohol doesn't count as a food, no matter how often you ingest it.

**America**: *Suddenly remembers Russia's use of _that_ food and hopes that you don't bring it up*

**Russia**: *remains silent for a moment, eyes half-lidded, deliberating* Oh, there are two. I must say I am particularly fond of watermelon. It's so sweet, crunchy and delicious. Also very difficult to get here, as you know, which makes it all that much more of a delicacy. But then, of course, there is... *rests his chin on one palm, gazes benevolently at the ceiling, but the smirk is wide and dangerously raw* _Darling,_ do you recall the time we couldn't find the lubricant?

**America**: *Attempts to suffocate self by smothering with hands*

**Russia**: It's unfortunate that roadside cafés do not stock such items... We had parked the car in a vacant lot just off the highway. You were adamantly opposed to being fucked dry, and didn't wish to use saliva, so I was forced to walk three blocks and request slick, lubricative substances... I'm positive that the waitress nearly had a heart attack, how _lovely~_. I was provided with ketchup and honey, and you chose the honey, odd, considering your endearment to burgers. Perhaps you were being considerate...? *a small, taunting chuckle as he gazes intensely at the screen as if he could see America's face* _Honey_, you have never tasted sweeter.

**America**: *Attempts to calm self by running hand through hair* Yeah, I actually remember that. I STILL have NO IDEA how you managed to go all the way. I thought that you'd give up. That seems to be the most patient I've seen you. Then again, you do run pretty fast... *Has resigned himself to the fact that Russia will continue to bring up the dirty things and has switched mindframes*

**America**: *Smirks, remembering* And it was quite interesting, sticky and sweet and gold, unlike the sticky sweetness you _normally_ swallow, but why you tasted any honey at all I don't know. There wasn't that much.

**America**: But it got all over you, too.

**America**: The other sweet thing, not the honey.

**America**: Although honey did get on your hands...

**America**: That was slightly uncomfortable. It got on me, too, and what you didn't lick up stuck to my clothes and got all... *Makes a face*

**America**: *Grins* Contrary to popular belief, I do like something more than burgers. Although I think you're one of the few who may have guessed. You know, vanilla ice cream. It's cold and delicious, melts in your mouth. And it's sweet. I like the sweetness more than the burgers. If you'll remember, I'm sure you do, *Smirks* the last time I had ice cream in your presence? *Points* you couldn't wait that time. But you contaminated it when I was halfway done, couldn't you hold out? Your "cream" *Laughs slightly* was hotter than the ice cream, it got on your chest and melted my treat! I still think you did it on purpose.

**Russia**: *is disgruntled at your mention of one of the few times he permitted America to top, frowns slightly but quickly adopts the facade of a pleased smile* Ah, of course. I was surprised by how adamant you were about smearing the ice cream across my chest... but you didn't really mind when it was...spoiled... *snickers* did you? You still licked it off.

**America**: I wasn't gonna _waste_ it!

**Russia**: You surprise me, America, considering that being _wasteful_ appears to be the very basis of your society. *absent-mindedly studies his fingernails, still rather irritated by America's mention of the time he had topped* But tell me... what is it you do to, shall we say, _satiate_ yourself when I'm not around...? *grin becomes feral and malicious, intentionally toying with America* Do you stick your tongue down a bottle of vodka? Jerk off after you've dipped your hands in ice? Use a vibrator with a stronger setting than they sell in regular markets? Hnnn...~?

**Russia**: *realizes that he, too, will have to answer this question, sobers and pales considerably, smirk dwindling into silence*

**America**: *Scowls* *Flashes his middle finger at the screen* NO, you MORON, *He can't find an insult strong enough* I do NOT stick my tongue down a bottle of vodka! How you came up with that, I have NO IDEA. *Growls, not looking at the words he's typing and allows his fingers to run rampant*

**America**: A bottle of vodka doesn't have the depth of your mouth, and the bottle itself is hard and not that cold. I would immerse the bottle in ice to frigid temperatures before filling my mouth when I "satiate" myself, sometimes letting it drip from the corners of my mouth because you do that, even if you don't know, when I'm all hot and panting it's not just MY saliva you're seeing. And my hands don't go in ice, they're cold enough from holding the bottle by that time. And before your mind goes there, I also don't fuck myself on the vodka, that's just... *shudders at the thought* But my fingers aren't as pleasing, so yes I have a vibrator that's stronger than the market, I have no idea how or why France gave it to me, but I also don't use it that much. And nothing is as close to the real thing, fuck you, by the way.

**America**: The contrast of the cold glass on my skin, of my fingers nearing ice, that brings to mind the memories and that's enough.

**America**: *Rereads what he wrote* *Blanches*

**America**: *Hides behind his hand* *Flips the screen off*

**Russia**: Америка... *purrs slightly* It seems you get more desperate than I have known. I... *shifts uncomfortably, condemned by his lack of foresight* I have... travel maps... they are not difficult to acquire, and more rewarding than porn. I run my hands over their contours, remember the warmth of your skin, and yes, I... I do jerk off to them. I try to get my hands as warm as yours by heating them over the toaster, or the gas burner, or sometimes under hot water, but it's infuriating because the heat never stays. And I can't even begin to replicate the taste of your mouth... it's something like cinnamon or nutmeg, with an aftertaste of overprocessed hamburger meat, shitty coffee, and smog. Or the wet warmth of your tongue grazing down my... *eyes narrow to almost-slits* That's when I want you the most, _dear_. *runs a slender tongue over chapped lips* And sometimes, I do it in the shower- the warmth is at least skin-deep, and it's much less messy that way. When it comes to that, I use my fingers. Vibrators are far too uncomfortable and are usually of - shall we say - an insufficient size. *gives a soft, almost inaudible groan, eyes focused somewhere in the distance* Nnnn... I want you, Америка... my taxi is approaching the Moscow airport now.

**America**: *Shifts in chair, squirming* *Turns on fan* A map, Russia? Interesting. Never thought you one to do that. *Smirks, crossing legs on desk, jeans becoming much too tight* Only thirteen or so more hours for you to wait, huh, Russia...

**America**: And it's my turn to think of something.

**Russia**: *lets a thin hiss slip out between his teeth* This is not amusing, Америка. Particularly because I am aware that you want me at least as badly. You were the one who invited me, remember~?

**America**: *Splutters* Hey! I wasn't thinking!

**America**: ...

**America**: *Hits head again*

**Russia**: I'm exiting the cab. I will contact you again in... two hours? This heightened security is extremely irritating.

– **Russia has signed out –**

**America**: Fuck. It's been over two hours.

– **Russia has signed in –**

**Russia** : Америка, are you there? The flight has commenced. It was extremely difficult to convince the security personnel to allow me to leave my scarf on while passing through the checkpoints, but I managed. *grins at the memory of the cowering security guard, causing the person seated next to him to shudder at the sight of those frigid amethyst eyes and inch slowly closer to the aisle* I am still rather... _unwilling_... to display my scars in public. Shall we continue this conversation where we left off? *eyes narrow in mirth* I believe it was your turn to ask a question...

**America**: Yeah, I'm here. Got stuck listening to this one song... I think I've been listening to it for an hour.

**America**: ANYWAY, I had this question to ask you... But you TOOK OVER TWO HOURS and I forgot it. Now let me think it up again.

**Russia**: Hurry up, or I may have to take drastic measures to relieve my boredom. I would enjoy pressing the service button repeatedly, or perhaps disabling the lavatory smoke detector and burning through a pack of cigarettes. That is always entertaining. For the moment, leering at this person seated next to me is amusement enough. The color of my eyes seems to be making them uneasy... or perhaps it is this saccharine smirk...? *directs another simpering glance at poor innocent passenger*

**America**: DON'T DO THAT.

**America**: I pity the person sitting next to you. I really do.

**America**: Anyway, I can't remember. So I just thought of one! *Swings legs off table and sits straighter* How big are you? Not geographically, I mean... *Pointedly looks down, but then remembers that Russia can't see him* You know what I mean. And don't give me a vague generalization, as I'm sure you will remind me, I DO know the generalities. I mean inches and that. *Thinks for a moment* And don't give me something crazy like Prussia and five meters. I know he doesn't have five meters.

**Russia**: Oh really? *eyes narrow in mild interest* And you have fucked Prussia often, I suppose~? Do you recall those years when he resided with me behind the Iron Curtain?

**Russia**: …

**Russia: **...I'll admit it. He really does not have five meters.

**America**: OH, HELL NO.

**America**: Yes, the latter is true, but HELL NO.

**Russia**: Hnn~? Америка?

**Russia**: Does it bother you that I partake in fucking other nations from time to time...?

**America**: *Growls and flips screen off* I went drinking with Denmark and England and Prussia. Prussia got REALLY drunk and then proceeded to strip. Iggy joined him, then they started making out, and IT BURNS, THE IMAGES BURN MY EYES!

**America**: And shut up and answer the question.

**Russia**: Ah, you know me too well. I shall have to think of some way to surprise you~

**Russia**: Америка, I still do not understand why you are requesting this information... Is it not enough to know that I am large, and it is difficult for me to make condoms small enough to fit your underendowed length? If you insist, *frowns and winces, casting a precautionary glance at the person sitting next to him to ensure that they aren't looking at the laptop* my length is 12.5 inches and my girth is six, erect.

**Russia**: I am... enclosing a picture, so that you can see that these measurements are indeed correct.

– **Russia is sending you a picture: russiabigcountry –**

**America**: Do I want to know how you knew this to exacts?

– **You have received picture: russiabigcountry –**

**Russia**: ... *stares expressionlessly at screen, unwilling to disclose information*

**America**: Got it.

**Russia**: The picture is to your liking, hnn~? *sugary smirk*

**America**: *Flips off screen* Fuck you.

**America**: Since I have to answer *Rolls eyes at self for lack of foresight* I'm not underendowed, you're just huge! For most normal people, I'm above average! 7.1 inches long, 5.1 in girth. *Rants on about how Russia is the largest fucking country in the motherfucking world*

**Russia**: But it's why you're attracted to me, is it not? *tilts his head slightly, blinking with mock innocence and puzzlement*

**America**: *Blushes and looks away* Fuck you.

**America**: ...

**America**: Your turn.

**Russia**: _...Really, Америка...? I thought there was more between us than that... _

**Russia**: What was your most rewarding sex experience? *gazes at the screen intently, possibly scheming at how best to replicate the experience once he receives America's answer*

**America**: Why... Do you continue to make me remember these things? I'm perfectly happy, relaxing (kinda), and then I get bombarded with... *Glares at the question*

**America**: Well, unfortunately, I have to ask for clarification. Do you mean "rewarding" as in, "can't breathe, can't walk, spent, sore, haven," *Glares at words as he's typing them but can't think of any other way to word it* or "walking away with a limp or a smirk, knowing that, although there is pain, it was... mind-blowing"?

**Russia**: Whichever you find more rewarding. I was thinking more along the lines of the most intense, so pleasurable that you cannot breathe or even quite remember who you are or what you stand for... but then that happens often with you, does it not, _sweetheart~?_

**America**: *Scowls* Not.

**America**: *Hits head at lame comeback*

**America**: Remember our... "anniversary" a few years back? It was up at your house and I guess that you were DESPERATE for heat because seriously, you were ROUGH. I don't remember how many times you made me come that night, you continued to wake me up for more again and again, slamming into my body until my throat was hoarse from the screams. You even tied me up with your scarf, but that was near the beginning when I showed some resistance. *Goes red at the memory* I'm not sure if the "lovebites" from that night are gone yet, you were that fierce. But then again... *Smirks devilishly, intent on mischief* You do lose yourself when it comes to me, don't you? I'm so hot, sometimes overcome with the moment, and I can be rough when I want to be, biting and clawing and licking….

**America**: I remember that you said you love the licking, my tongue gliding over your cold body, up your neck and down your chest, and I think I can classify the noises you make when I take you in orally as "mewls of pleasure and need", because I normally end up on top then. But you just find yourself overcome with me, which is why, I think, that you make every second count. I still think you love it, need it, when I'm the dominating one, remember all those times I made you beg for more, faster and harder until you were just as messy as you say I am? *Grins, crossing arms at the words* You act all proud, and I crave your passion, but I just love your submission, _Russia_~ *He speaks the words as he types it, a low, seductive purr as he reminds Russia of all the times he has dominated*

**Russia** : *blinks expressionlessly at the screen* Америка, that is... *reveals just the barest smidgeon of a frown, unwilling to deny the aforementioned accusations yet even more opposed to admitting their truth*

**America**: *Slow smile* Yes?

**Russia** : *winces slightly, giving a thin hiss as he repositions the laptop to completely cover his groin and the area in close vicinity, in a precautionary movement to ward against prying eyes* Does it... _suffice _to say that I am hard? *directs a chilling glare in the approximate direction of the North American continent, giving another hiss as he shifts his legs, seeking a less painful position* Fuck you.

**America**: *Smirks ever so innocently* You're welcome, just how many more hours?

**Russia** : *gives a slight, nearly inaudible groan which could almost be classified as a growl, eyes crystalline and cold as star-splattered darkness* Please... excuse me. *grits his teeth* I will return from the lavatory in five minutes, under the condition that there is no line. And you may expect to experience a triple dose of the ache I am currently enduring once this plane alights in Washington.

**Russia** : *breath hitches as the fabric of his coat shifts over his legs as he moves to unbuckle his seatbelt* And that is not a threat but a _guarantee_, darling.

**America**: I wonder how you hide that on a plane. *Ignores "guarantee"*

**Russia** : Fuck you. *is extremely irked because he would actually enjoy fucking America, rather than the derogatory statement that the word has come to imply* It is, difficult, _da_, *he never uses that affirmative unless he is especially aggravated, and the tone itself is laced with venom* because of the length of this coat... if I were any less intimidating, I might balk at walking about the plane holding one of those ridiculous flimsy pillows in front of my crotch. But, ah, I can _ensure_ that no one will dare to question my motives.

– **Russia has signed out –**

– **Russia has signed in –**

**America**: Welcome back~

**America**: *Smirks again*

**Russia** : Screw you.

**America**: Literally?

**Russia** : In both the literal and figurative terms of the expression, _darling_. *sinister smirk, person next to him notices that he's returned to being creepy instead of shifting about as if he_ really_ had to go to the bathroom and slowly melts into the back of the seat*

**America**: *Rolls eyes, disregarding the statement for the next ten hours* Whatever. Your turn.

**Russia** : My best time... You will be surprised to learn, dear Америка, that it was not with you.

**America**: *Shock flits over his face, followed by anger and pain* Really? *he growls the word, running a hand through his hair to wipe away the weakness* Who then, *he spits the words as he types them, short and clipped* _Russia?_ *he sighs, one hand still threaded in this hair as he attempts to reign in his childish temper* And... what happened? *His voice cracks as he says it, so he decides to shut up and glare daggers*

**Russia** : Do not jump to conclusions, любовь. *his countenance is serious, sincere rather than smirking* Just because it did not necessarily involve you does not mean it did not regard you. It was with France, which is... perverse and ironic, I suppose. It was the only time he was permitted to touch me without suffering... _dire_ consequences. *flashes a hint of a grin, recalling the dull, heavy sound of a water pipe colliding solidly with France's head on more than one occasion*

**Russia** : It was back in the early 1940s when it happened... we were attending an Allied meeting. I had retired early to my room, and I must confess, ah, even then, Америка, you were _stunning_. Radiant, effervescent... I knew you would be warm, and I wanted you for my own. It was pure coincidence when I discovered a travel brochure discarded on the bedstand, and I spread it out on the floor and warmed my hands on the space heater and… *pale cheeks are stained with the faintest spray of a blush* I was fast, and rough. I wanted to believe that they were your hands.

**Russia** : I made no effort to silence myself, and I'm nearly positive I was gasping, shuddering, and panting, if not outright moaning. But I... couldn't reach it. My hands were too cold, it wasn't you, I couldn't bring myself to let go, disengage from the finite inaccuracy of that brochure and the roughness of the floor on my thighs and the ridicule of the entire situation.

**Russia** : I was bent over myself, fingers kneading up my length, wheezing and almost tearing up from the frustration when France walked in. He cast a supercilious glance at me, the pamphlet, smirked, and offered to help. I was tight and aching, and I wanted to see the white so badly that I must admit when he knelt down next to me I pressed up against him like a proper whore. That night was... *flush intensifies* At first he handcuffed me to the table (from where he produced those handcuffs, I have no idea) and splayed my legs, and, ah, I couldn't sit and I couldn't kneel and I couldn't arch my back.

**Russia** : When he rammed in, I _shrieked_... his thrusts were too hard, too soon, and he was sporadic and swift and would withdraw nearly all the way before shoving forth again. His hands were dexterous and warm, and he knew just where to press and jerk and tug to bring me close to ecstasy. I was already halfway there, and more than anything I craved the impending release… he moved two fingers to my mouth and every time he drove in I screamed, screamed like I never have before and bucked and bit down on his fingers until I tasted blood, brazen and senseless and soulless because I just wanted him to pound me harder because all I could see was _you_...

**Russia** : ... I wanted to be fucked by someone who smelled like cinnamon and sweat and... _aromatic sunlight_... not roses and pricy champagne. And then when I saw sparks and couldn't see, couldn't breathe, he clenched his fingers around the base of my shaft and kept driving onward, wouldn't let me cum, _he wouldn't let me cum_, and every movement was taught and coiled, a shivering, curdling screech, and I was dizzy and shaking and almost sobbing and oh, when he let me go I believe I screamed Америка and when my vision cleared I was alone, lying on my back with the table in splinters around me.

**Russia** : *is now most thoroughly blushing, and jumps when the flight attendant taps his shoulder to enquire if he would like to purchase a beverage*

**Russia** : Does that... suffice for an answer...? I hope you are not... _too_ ashamed of me. *calculating smirk* Have I left you with a little problem of your own? Hnn~?

**America**: *Stares at words* *Mind has formed a complete blank slate* Y- you- France- *Somewhere in his mind, he begins to plot how to best murder France* I- words- can't-

**America**: *He scowls at his honesty, scowling more at the overwhelming tightness in his jeans*

**America**: FRANCE?

**America**: *He runs a hand over his arm, reassuring himself that yes, the world has not just come to an end*

**Russia** : I-I told you, America, by that point I was too far gone to care... *allocates slightly hurt look*

**Russia** : And don't act as if you haven't done it with France.

**America**: *He blushes, remembering his earlier years*

**America**: *He squirms, jeans too tight, going straight from uncomfortable to painful*

**Russia** : And, dear, have I managed to return my previous problem to you? *sly smirk*

**America**: *Flashes his middle finger at the screen* Fuck you. *He cannot stop his mind from following that sentiment to how gratifying it would be right now to be fucked by yo-*

**America**: ...

**America**: BACK IN TEN.

**Russia** : Kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol... *snicker*

**- America has signed out –**

* * *

**We're not done roleplaying. This is actually still going on… We haven't even gotten to where they're near each other. Russia still has a **_**lot**_** of time to kill on that plane…**

**elepaio adds: Here's the link to the picture which Russia sends America. Unfortunately, it's on y!gallery, so that means you need to be over eighteen and registered before viewing. Sorry about that… .**

**http:/ yaoi. y-gallery. net/view/663205/ (take out the spaces)**


	2. It Continues

**I don't have much to say here, it was basically all said last chapter. You remember the roleplay notes, right?**

**This chapter contains: Smut, sweetness, more smut, crack, kink, smutty blackmail pictures, and the MOST AWESOMEST NICKNAME FOR RUSSIA EVER EVER EVER.**

**elepaio's A/N: Warning. Contains Russia x Spain x Romano x Random Spanish male x Sealand. Yes, you have officially earned the right to question my sanity. XD**

* * *

**- America has signed in –**

**Russia** : Back, _dear?_ Did you enjoy yourself?

**America**: *Takes a pause between each word to jab a finger at the screen* I- Hate- You.

**America**: *Frowns because it's not true, but it felt good to lie*

**Russia** : *smiles ever-so-slowly* Rest assured, the feeling is more than mutual~. *eyes narrow to slits, not entirely fibbing as he recalls the Cold War tension*

**America**: *Tugs on hair, annoyed* Are we still playing?

**Russia** : Obviously. *smirk intensifies* There are still thirteen more hours until this plane touches down in Washington.

**Russia** : And I believe it was your turn...

**America**: Fine.

**America**: Okay, in hindsight of... _that_... *glares for a moment at the question he so vividly remembers* what was your most interesting to traumatizing time?

**Russia** : Are you... *shudders violently, suddenly subdued* requesting me to recount my abuse at Mongolia's hands...? That certainly was... *swallows roughly* traumatizing...

**Russia** : No... no! I... I can't answer that...

**America**: Please note the use of the word "interesting", Russia.

**America**: Read the directions carefully.

**Russia** : Ah... give me a... *he winces, limbs wracked with small tremors as he shrinks inward, hands furling into his scarf as if to ground himself* I apologize... your phrasing threw me... off... *shivers again*

**America**: O... kay.

**America**: *Folds arms and waits, feeling guilty for somehow bringing up Mongolia*

**Russia** : *forces himself to breathe, recognizing that America's mention of Mongolia was ignorant and harmless* Welllll... I suppose there was always the time when I... *offers up a slight, reckless grin* I had no idea what I was thinking, at the time...

**America**: Yeah? *Exceedingly curious, but refuses to shout at you to hurry up*

**Russia** : A few centuries ago, I traveled to France to negotiate the terms of some sort of treaty with him. *grin broadens rapidly*

**America**: *Wonders if he really does have to kill Fra-*

**Russia** : Америка, I know what you're thinking. This incident does not involve France.

**Russia** : I decided to travel home via Spain, and spend a day or two on the shore of the Mediterranean... it was summer, you see, so I naturally gravitated towards the more tropical latitudes. I was walking through one of those open-air marketplaces, absorbing the bustle and scent of spices wafting through the evening air, when I saw him...

**Russia** : He wasn't a nation. Just an ordinary Spanish citizen, with eyes like ground cardamom and salt-swept hair bleached gold with the sun… I trailed him through the stalls, weaving, meandering, curious… abruptly infatuated. I believe I was more enamored with the place than by him, and as dusk settled the energy in the square became infectious. I was gleeful, rather giddy I suppose, and couldn't bring myself to care that I was pursuing a stranger. I followed him through several streets before he turned towards a beachfront villa.

**Russia** : Disregarding all potential consequences, I continued to follow him… and quite coincidentally, the house was one of Spain's private residences. I tracked the man through a corridor, and stumbled into the living room, where Spain recognized me immediately. This was in the days when Romano still was living with him. You're aware of Spain's affinity for spontaneity, I'm sure. *lips twist upward with the ghost of a smirk* As I recall, he had a "firm grip" on Florida….

**America**: *Blushes red at the mention of that* Light grip. Light. *He mumbles the words as he types* He had a light grip while England invaded. This was before I got myself quite under control...

**America**: *blinks*

**America**: And a human, Russia? I'm surprised they didn't think STALKER and call the police or someone.

**America**: You're not exactly the most conspicuous person in the world.

**America**: Sorry, typo, INconspicuous.

**Russia** : ...Shut up, _darling,_ before I decide to forcefully extricate your voice box. Or, in this case, your fingers... And allow me to continue. *directs dirty look in the direction of person sitting next to him, deciding that it will suffice to glare at them in America's absence*

**America**: *Just- Barely- Refrains- From- Typing- Comeback-*

**Russia** : Shall I send you something to occupy you, in your free time~? So your brain does not implode from your incapability to refrain from speaking?

**Russia :** Remember this, dear~?

**- You have received 1 photo(s): Don't ever think you've won this.**

**America**: *Gestures wildly in the air* You- you- *looks around* I'm bringing that gun when I pick you up, just to hit you over the head with it. *Stares at the picture for a little while longer* *Goes redder than current status* Hate- Fucking- Rus- GAH! *Can't find the words to express himself, continues making jerky hand gestures* *Flips off the image*

**Russia** : Mmmmh... You're beautiful, when you scream... but I believe you are aware of this~.

**America**: *smothers self with hands and proceeds to shut up and think for something to bark back*

**Russia** : I can not quite recall why you were wearing the girls' panties... Or is all American underwear so indecent...? In Siberia, the cold necessitates long underwear. *jerks up the corners of his mouth into a menacing grin* Oh, do I enjoy watching you struggle to remove those...

**America**: *Rubs eyes, saying the first thing that comes to his mind just to get Russia to shut up* Dare from Iggy. We were drunk.

**America**: Weren't you talking about nearly traumatizing some innocent human? Or do you want a reminder, Russia, about when _you_ scream? You gave me no chance to talk about that time when I tied you up with your scarf and made you beg, you screamed then.

**America**: *He decides to do anything to pull Russia away from the topic of women's lingerie and why he had it on*

**America**: I almost feel sorry for the scarf. All the things it goes through on your bed... My bed... The world conference table... That door we demolished... Or those chairs.

**Russia** : ... *decides not to answer America* At least I do not scream in a voice reminiscent of a female.

**America**: I do NOT!

**Russia** : And if I may remind you, nine times out of ten it is you who is doing the screaming.

**Russia** : Do to.

**Russia** : Would you like me to record it next time~?

**Russia** : Ah, and I do believe I have another picture...

**America**: ...

**America**: Go fuck yourself on a waterpipe...

**America**: ...

**America**: But recording it, I have absolutely no idea how you're gonna manage that.

**- You have received 1 photo(s): Scarfplay -**

**Russia** : Hnnn~ *proceeds to be vague and evasive*

**Russia** : Remember that? Our attempt with breathplay? I must say the result was rather _f_... *purrs*

**America**: According to the one who was able to BREATHE.

**Russia** : I'm positive you found it enjoyable. *malicious snicker* You've never shuddered so hard... I must admit, the scarf was a _bit_ tight.

**Russia** : ...A _minor_ inconvenience, _da?_ *again, the word is used to mock America*

**America**: Fine, I'll admit I liked it. A little. But you can't disregard the times when something happened to you, Russia~ *He smiles, a triumphant leer, as he remembers something*

**America**: With your fucking accurate memory, I'm sure you'll recall this time:

**You have sent 1 photo(s) to Russia: AmericatopRussiagarters**

**America**: And you said something about women's underwear?...

**America**: What exactly did you have on?

**Russia** : That is.._. completely..._ *stutters*

**Russia** : I-I was only wearing those leggings because I was drunk! You took advantage of me after that Christmas party at France's house! As I recall, that velvet comforter smelled of wine and pricey perfume... and sex, and that was before we stained it.

**Russia** : Y-you... *glares*

**Russia** : How did you acquire that photograph...?

**America**: You still liked it, look at your desperate face~

**Russia** : *pales* You don't mean that... there was someone in the room with us!

**America**: *Thinks* I think... It just showed up in my mail...

**Russia** : Hungary...? Japan? I have a feeling that it is not in my best interests to reflect on this matter further...

**Russia** : And I was not desperate. I was merely flushed from the alcohol, _dear_, there is quite a difference.

**America**: *Shakes head* No, I recognize a desperate redness to a drunken blush. You hadn't had that much vodka.

**Russia** : ...

**America**: I was counting.

**Russia** : If I could see your face right now, rest assured that my glare would singe like Siberian permafrost. _It never thaws~_

**America**: *He feels a surge of pity for the persons sitting near you*

**America**: *He gets over it*

**America**: But Russia... *He makes an innocent face, completely deceptive* I'm only telling you what I know... Just to remind you a little.

**America**: I know you'd hate gaps in your knowledge... *He grins, innocence gone* So, of course, I have to tell the facts.

**America**: *Brushes off feeling of ice gathering on his jacket*

**Russia** : _...Imbecile_. You're insolent, moronic, asinine, and incorrigible...

**Russia** : I seriously doubt, Америка, that you could relate to me the meanings of these words which are quite conveniently incorporated into your own language...

**America**: *Shrugs* Whatever. *Disregards the fact that he has no idea what one of those words mean*

**Russia** : We've become distracted. Would you care to hear the remainder of the incident which occurred in Spain?

**America**: *Mulls it over* Sounds interesting. So, what did you do to the poor, innocent human?

**Russia** : ...I did nothing to him _directly._ You are too condescending. But allow me to explain. *chuckle fringed with ice*

**Russia** : Spain invited me in, and, inebriated with the scent of the Mediterranean air, I discarded all inhibitions and joined him. Romano served us liquor, tequila, as I believe, and… the events that followed were among the strangest I have ever had the, er, privilege of experiencing. He… decided to serenade me with some sort of stringed instrument – Spain can sing, are you aware of that? – and then I believe I was offered more tequila, and then Spain's hands were at the buckles of my robe, and it all began to degenerate from there…

**Russia** : Sealand was also at the villa, most likely staying for the summer so England could get him off his nerves, and he was most definitely too young for _certain_ activities… It was an orgy of sorts. Spain allowed me to top, always the gracious host, and then Romano, the man I had followed, and Sealand joined in. You recall the tomato fetish that Romano and Spain share…? I had never… experienced tomatoes being placed in… _that_ location, before. Or used olive oil as lubricant… it was more effective than the honey. Far less sticky. The sex was unhurried, slow and synchronized, and was performed standing… my memories are hazy, but I know there was tequila in my hair, olive oil on my skin, and Spain's lips tasted of tomatoes.

**Russia** : The climax was more of a collective sigh than a scream, and I don't recall ever being so… relaxed before. The oddest part was that I found it peculiarly romantic, oil, liquor, and tomato juice swilled together with the semen… *flaunts a simpering smirk* I am now positive that you are convinced I am eccentric, twisted, and corrupted, if not questioning my sanity or my value as a lover.

**America**: *He looks like a fish, mouth opening and closing as his eyes are wide in shock*

**America**: *He can't even think of a good comeback*

**Russia** : Ah, I take it that my rendezvous with Spain, Romano, Sealand and a human has... shall we say... _impressed_ you?

**America**: Y- you... *He commends himself for being able to make a coherent thought* Sealand. Sealand? *He is surprised when he finds he can actually communicate* What the fuck were you doing with Sealand?

**America**: I'll admit, Spain's a good lover and Romano's begrudging, but... SEALAND?

**Russia** : I was doing nothing with Sealand. I never even touched him. It was that human who lead me to the villa... He was in between Sealand and Romano.

**America**: *He rubs a hand over his face and arm, assuring himself yet again that the world had not just come to an end* S- slightly more believable.

**Russia**: And your most interesting or... *wince* traumatic time, Америка? I am curious~...

**America**: *Licks lips, attempting to never, ever think of your most interesting time ever again in his life* My-? Oh. Right.

**America**: You brought it up before, both of the times I was considering to tell...

**America**: And I can't choose, myself.

**America**: So, um... France's invasions or... The Seminole wars?

**America**: ... *pushes up glasses* Also known as the... *unconsciously, almost ashamed, his voice drops into a small string of syllables* Florida wars...

**Russia**: Oh...? *lips peel backwards in a smirk so wide he shows teeth* Would you care to inform me about the intricacies of these "Florida Wars?"

**Russia**: ...The other nations must surpass even you in terms of underendowment, if they considered that stubby little peninsula worth fighting over. *laughs lightly, breathily, so that if you were capable of hearing him you would know he was only mocking*

**America**: I told you, you're just insanely huge! Like a pony!

**America**: And Florida is NOT small!

**Russia**: You compare me to a pony? *reels back, miffed, fringing on insulted*

**Russia**: ...It's miniscule, love, admit it~

**America**: You ever seen how big a horse's is?

**America**: IS NOT.

**America**: *Crosses arms* Do you want to hear about the Seminole Wars or not?

**Russia**: *glares, eyes keen and glimmering* Of course. But I am not a pony...

**America**: *Smiles lightly, teasing* Whatever you say, my little pony. *Raises eyebrow* You said you like me riding you, remember those times when I decked out in cowboy?

**Russia**: That is besides the point. *leers* Get on with it, _dear_. *the endearment becomes a curse, nearly snarled*

**America**: Yeah, sure.

**America**: Well, the few things we have in common with our interesting times are "Spain" and "multiple people".

**America**: I find that... Well, out of the three Florida Wars, the second was the most... intense.

**America**: And you can't blame me for anything, this is before I got myself entirely under control.

**America**: Anyway, I'm not quite sure what happened, but they wanted me. Spain in particular, he never quite gave up on capturing me. And he did, I was somewhat at his mercy then, and he could do whatever he wanted to... Florida.

**Russia**: *cannot conceal a sudden outbreak of snickering*

**America**: He had me to himself for a long time, but things got very interesting once Iggy wanted in... You know Spain, he's still scared shitless of England and his navy, no matter how many years pass. Well, this was a while ago, so he doubly feared Iggy. Anyway, England thought that Spain was just too selfish, not "sharing".

**America**: So, one night, he showed up in full pirate deck and announced that he was going to have his way then and there. Spain, the host who could never deny England, attempted to keep me for his own - It was interesting, watching them fight. I could have tried to escape then, but I was kinda handcuffed to the headboard and that thing was STURDY.

**America**: I'm not quite sure how it happened, I was trying to get away (and cursing my responsive body, I was hard and young, so also very unable to resist), when they suddenly decided to get along with the night and right in front of me, they started going at it - England still in his pirate outfit, Spain with much less clothing.

**America**: I was already bare, splayed, and ready - Spain had been almost about to invade. Again.

**America**: I was helpless to do anything but watch as slowly, Iggy lost clothes: boots, pants, jacket, until he only had his leatherbound shirt and that pirate hat, completely dominating the situation.

**America**: It wasn't long before their attentions turned to me, both a little out of breath, both seemingly agreeing right then to take me in whatever way they wanted. I could feel the lust in their eyes as I struggled, but then Spain had straddled my legs and anchored me in place. He was gentle, very gentle, as he caressed my exposed thighs and chest, doing whatever he pleased until Iggy told him otherwise.

**America**: I loved every second of those light, feathery touches, and when he finally reached Florida he was so gentle, soft, almost as if he cared. I'm not sure if he didn't. England, on the other hand, had been watching while I writhed and while Spain had his way and finally decided that it was his turn.

**America**: Unlike Spain, he was everything but gentle, but still a little softer than you. He bit only hard enough for me to feel, his touches were rough but not overwhelming, and it was such a contrast to Spain's light menstruations that it was all the more enjoyable. I remember coming once under their influence, when Spain and Iggy laid their attentions on Florida, them whispering over my body about something else, and then they were wiping off my cum to use, I later found out, as lube.

**America**: After that point, my mind was tired and hazy, I don't remember much clearly but I definitely remember that I was forced to come many more times before finally they were sated. I remember extreme pain - I also found out later that they had invaded at the same time, but the two seafaring nations were so syncronized that I hadn't realized at the time - and feeling rather angered at being used like such a toy.

**America**: I loved every second, but I was still just a plaything to them. And I also, after what they did, I couldn't walk with dignity for a week. And I believe that's when I swore to get full control of myself, and of Florida, no matter what it took. Anything to stop the invasions of persistent European countries...

**America**: *He remembers more than he's telling, but sees no need to add more*

**Russia**: Persistant... European countries... *purrs* I do not believe you have been successful in this endeavor, dear.

**Russia**: You are still invaded quite often...

**America**: You're technically Asian, my little pony.

**Russia**: I'm afraid you're mistaken, on both counts. *sneers* Most of my important parts are in Europe, as well as the highest concentration of my population. My language is European, and Greece and I share the Cyrillic alphabet. My citizens are light-haired and their eyes are pale blue. Do I resemble either an Asian, or a... a..._ pony_ to you?

**America**: *Shrugs* The humans consider you Asian. Seen a European map with yourself entirely on it?

**Russia**: That is merely because I am so large that I would dwarf the rest of Europe if I was located on such a map. *blinks at you coolly, unperturbed* You are aware that the entirety of the European Union could easily fit within my borders, with room to spare?

**Russia**: And refer to me as a pony again and I can _ensure_ you will live to forget it in, oh, shall we say... twelve hours?

**America**: Okay, little po- *just barely stops himself from saying pony* *smirks* Oh well. As I say, save a pony- ride Russia.

**America**: Ride him like a cowboy~ *Starts humming lightly*

**Russia**: Your impertinence never ceases to astound me... *frowns with displeasure*

**Russia**: I shall attempt to remain... civil. I believe it is my turn for a question, correct?

**America**: *His legs return to the top of the table* Yeah, your turn.

**Russia**: *smirk so sugary it becomes corrosive* Your erogenous zone. I have yet to discover the location which gives you the most intense reaction. *eyes narrow to slits*

**America**: Are you expecting something strange like the Ita curls? I'll tell you: It's not my hair. No.

**Russia**: Америка, I'm already aware that it's not your hair. I've tried that before...

**Russia**: *slightly frustrated frown*

**America**: You have? When, exactly?

**Russia**: Please tell me you are not so unobservant as to be surprised that I've touched your hair before.

**Russia**: ...When my fingers are carding through it, it would be difficult not to invoke a reaction if it was indeed your erogenous zone.

**America**: No, it's just the opposite: you yank on it. A lot. And I'm normally already moaning or screaming, so how could you know the difference? And what if it's hidden? Like where your hands don't normally go? But it's still hair? *childishly continues the light banter even though he already said it's not his hair*

**Russia**: Would it be dehabilitating for you to cease dallying and answer the question? And I'm gentle with your hair when I kiss you, Америка. Unlike you, I have the mental capacity to realize that searching for an erogenous zone while you are already pleading and shivering would be fruitless.

**America**: Hmph.

**Russia**:_ Brilliant_ comeback. Your social skills are dazzling.

**Russia**: *self-satisfied grin*

**America**: *Just because of your comment to hurry up, he stalls* But I really don't wanna tell you now... I'd rather you find out yourself.

**America**: … And go eat a scone.

**America**: *Shudders at the thought of Iggy's scones*

**Russia**: ...?

**Russia**: Are you quite straight in the head, Америка...?

**America**: You've never had one of Iggy's scones before?

**America**: Ever?

**Russia**: Your point...?

**America**: Remind me to feed you one next time I'm in a murderous mood.

**Russia**: ...

**America**: Knowing you, the scone will fear you and maybe not poison you. If not, you can't die. You're a nation!

**America**: Iggy's cooking hasn't gone to the point where nations die from it... yet.

**Russia**: I take it that the rumors about England's cooking are tr- ah.

**Russia**: Ah.

**Russia**: Remind me not to remind you to feed me one of England's scones when you're in a murderous mood.

**America**: *Shudders again at the mere thought of Iggy's cooking* Anyway, my erogenous zone... You have encountered it before. Many times. Just never realized it. I think.

**America**: ... *Whines* Do I have to tell you?

**Russia**: Remember, I must return the... favor... *purrs*

**America**: *Runs a hand through his hair* Fine. You know that spot, right at my jawline, you bite it a lot? *Refrains from prodding the area with his fingers*

**Russia**: Ahhhh... *gazes at the screen thoughtfully through lowered lashes, just possibly scheming at how to utilize this knowledge to his greatest advantage*

**America**: Yeah, there. Stop scheming. I know you are. I know you that well. Plus, you hafta tell me yours.

**Russia**: Are you not already aware of it...? *tilts his head to the side slightly, legitimately puzzled*

**America**: Enlighten me.

**Russia**: My neck~. True, you have always seemed careful around that particular place, as if reluctant to touch my scars...

**Russia**: *written cautiously, as if whispered* Do they... _disgust_ you...?

**America**: I- No, Russia, they don't. As I'm sure you'll mock me for in some way later, I don't have the words to explain why or how, but they don't. They intrigue me.

**Russia**: O… oh? *stares, caught off balance* That's... gratifying to know, Америка... *his features are graced with the shadow of a small, sincere smile*

**America**: *He smiles, the gesture holding no mockery* You're welcome. *A slight sigh as he thinks his words carefully* It's... Just remember, Russia, I might have hated your guts during the Cold War, but we found that to just be sexual tension. There's... you can't disgust me. Not ever. *He laughs at the words that leap to his head* And especially not after everything I've seen of you, your exquisite flawed perfection... My little pony~

**Russia**: *blinks, the slight smile wavering but present, swiftly metamorphosizing into a disgruntled expression as he reads the final phrase* That's... *frowns, giving a small shake of his head* I would have said that was _kind_, but...

**Russia**: Fuck you. *lips contort with the semblance of a satisfied smirk*

**Russia**: And I believe the next question is yours.

* * *

**elepaio adds: Picture links. I'm so sorry, everyone, but all of these are, once again, all located on y!gallery. And quite unfortunately, it's rather imperative to see them to understand exactly what Russia and America are talking about. At the time we were writing this section and chose the pictures, it was still just for fun and we hadn't intended to publish yet. -_-'**

**Don't ever think you've won this: http:/ yaoi. y-gallery. net/view/662192/**

**Scarfplay: http:/ yaoi. y-gallery. net/view/625645/**

**AmericatopRussiagarters: http:/ yaoi. y-gallery. net/view/661874/**

**If anyone wants to see these, just tell me in a review and I'll email them to you. **

**Rhen's adding some more!: If you really, really, really want to know without imprinting the images into your "innocent eyes" (Yeah, right, "innocent" people reading our eccentric-ness?) I can attempt to describe the pictures. In a vague way, because I half-suck at describing outfits (sex, on the other hand...)**

**Reviews are always appreciated and almost always answered!**


	3. And More

**Lesse… This chapter includes innuendoes, hints of past USUK, mentions of France-molestation, more of elepaio's crack, and the origin of the title.**

**The title is kinda misleading, isn't it? Oh well.**

**elepaio's A/N: Oh. My fucking lord. I'm the one who betas these for comprehension/spelling, and I've become obsessed with Kuroshitsuji… so sorry, sorry, sorry for letting this sit so long. X.x**

**We **_**will**_** finish it though…! (I think… *shot by Rhen*)**

* * *

**America**: *Puts on the face of an injured puppy just for show* And I was trying to be nice, how cruel. *He runs a hand through his hair, puppy expression melting into a distant, contemplative one* Okay, okay, let me think of something...

**Russia**: Be swift, this person seated next to me is feeling quite deprived of harmless attention~ *grins*

**America**: Nnnnnnngh, you're pressuring me! Stop that.

**America**: ... Gimmie a moment. I've been here for hours: I'm hungry. And it's HOT down here... Lemme turn on a fan and get something to eat. Back in a minute, less than.

**Russia**: *sighs, stretches, adjusts his scarf, gazes absentmindedly at the person next to him who contemplates requesting another seat*

**America**: *Throws himself back down onto the seat, one arm up in the air to protect his new delicious "meal"* Okay, I'm back.

**America**: Still can't think of anything.

**America**: So...

**America**: Whatcha doin'? *Takes a small bite off the tip of the cold treat*

**Russia**: Sitting on a plane. *irritable glare* Waiting for your incapable brain to conjure up a ques... Wait. Was that my question?

**Russia**: If so, allow me to give a far more adequate answer...

**America**: *Shrug* *Licks fingers, the dessert's getting messy* Yeah, it's yours. Told you I couldn't think of anything.

**Russia**: *smirk slicks across his features like oil over water* Ahhh then, Америка. I am... contemplating my arrival in Washington. You realize that I am now aware of your favorite position, your errogenous zone, and the experience that was most... _pleasing_ for you~? I have assured you that you will live to regret forcing me to traverse a crowded plane cabin holding a pillow in front of my groin... I am deliberating how this will be exacted.

**Russia**: Additionally, I believe I guaranteed you a surprise, and am wondering what _exactly_ this is going to entail... *deceptively sweet smirk*

**Russia**: ...Would you care for me to elaborate?~

**America**: Hey, I didn't tell you to walk around holding that flimsy little pillow!

**America**: You just decided to.

**Russia**: ...It was most decidedly your fault.

**America**: And elaboration is not necessary.

**America**: I simply answered your question, it's your fault for asking it!

**Russia**: ... *glares*

**Russia**: And it's your fault for inviting me to Moscow.

**America**: You should have anticipated the result.

**America**: You invited yourself!

**America**: And...

**America**: NOT TO MOSCOW.

**America**: WASHINGTON.

**America**: That's your capitol, not mine!

**Russia**: *purrs* I was merely checking to see if your _aptitude_ *snicker* in geography was extended to locations within your own country. It appears you are more attentive than I had presumed... your intelligence never ceases to amaze me.

**Russia**: Actually, Америка, though it may be early evening for you, it's quite late in Moscow... and I have not been sleeping... well... lately.

**Russia**: Missing... you...

**America**: Russ-ia? *His mind phases into blank as he stares at the last two words* Missing... *He shakes his head ever so slightly, a smirk making its way to his face* Aww, how cute, my little pony misses me... It's okay, I'm right here~ *The smirk melts off his face as he looks ahead softly, there is no way in hell he could ever admit to you what he knows, he has too much pride* _'I miss you more than you'll ever know. And you will never know... I can't let you...'_

**America**: Seriously though, I am right here.

**America**: I kinda have a problem with leaving.

**America**: So... You can talk to me whenever...

**America**: If that... helps... *He feels somewhat like an idiot, but decides he needs to say that*

**Russia**: Америка... *gazes intently at the upholstery lining the seat positioned directly in front of him, postponing dealing with the discomfort of the situation for a few additional moments*

**Russia**: I am... not your little pony. '_And I didn't mean to say that... never intended to... let you know.' _

**Russia**: I... it is your turn to answer the question. *gives a resigned exhale* What are you doing right now?

**Russia**: *allows his tensed muscles to relax somewhat, confident that he has threaded through the delicate situation*

**America**: *A smirk that can almost be called seductively evil slides onto his face* Sucking. Licking. Nipping. Lapping at juices that spill onto my hand, and I should probably slow down or I'll be done much too soon, but I don't want to and it's so good~

**America**: It heats up too fast in this enviornment, it's... very... difficult... To do this comfortably...

**America**: Or cleanly...

**America**: It's all messy...

**America**: And sticky...

**Russia**: *blinks*... *blinks again*... *makes a sound somewhere between a snicker and a scoff* ...I am almost confident that you are not jerking off while sitting in front of the computer screen. You tend to have difficulty forming coherent thought when you are not aroused, so I doubt that you would possess the clarity to communicate in a remotely intelligent manner. Additionally, this has hardly been the, shall we say, _ideal_ atmosphere for such an action. Additionally, I believe you just visited the refrigerator... and, being aware of your notorious eating habits...

**Russia**: ...Is it safe to presume that you are eating ice cream?

**America**: Nope~

**Russia**: Then what are you doing...? *confidence falters slightly, fringing on concerned*

**America**: *Grin widens as he presses the sweet to his teeth* You were close, though, I have to give it to you.

**America**: I have a popsicle~

**Russia**: I will refrain from commenting...

**America**: I'm out of ice cream, only reason I don't have any. It's seriously boiling down here, this thing is melting fast and it would probably be cooler if I opened a window...

**America**: But the window's all the way over there.

**Russia**: The extent of your laziness is unfathomable.

**Russia**: And yet the effort required to walk to the refrigerator in the other room does not seem to have inconvenienced you in the slightest...

**America**: That one had food. There is a difference.

**Russia**: ...It remains a wonder to me how with your one-track mind you have avoided becoming as obese as many of your inhabitants.

**America**: Sex burns calories.

**America**: *chews his cheek as he rereads the impulsive words, aware that he's flaunting his many fierce "romps" with Russia*

**Russia**: Still, America. Your lack of body fat remains a miraculous occurrence, because I burn at least as many calories as you during sex, *amused snicker* yet you consume twice as many as I due to your fatty diet.

**America**: I burn it all. I still move around, running errands or riding, and there are the nights where I jer- *Catches himself*

**America**: Never mind. Your turn.

**Russia**: *his fingers fiddle aimlessly at the fringes of his scarf, as he hums through his teeth, deliberating* Hnnnn~

**Russia**: Your first kiss.

**America**: *blinks, surprised by the rather "soft" question* Um, my...

**America**: First kiss ever or the first one I agreed to?

**Russia**: Tell me both. *frowns slightly* I find it rather... odd... that you recieved a first kiss before you agreed to one. Did England take advantage of you in your youth...? *allocates a piercing stare, determining that if this is the case England will soon find himself ripped limb from limb or comparatively maimed*

**America**: Not Iggy, he's kind of a prude...

**Russia**: Let me guess... France.

**America**: Your mind-reading abilities are amazing.

**America**: *rolls eyes*

**Russia**: ...Why thank you. I am flattered. *sarcastic smirk*

**Russia**: And the circumstances of this kiss with France...?

**America**: Actually... Both of my first kisses occurred on the same day. Within hours of each other... Before I was a real nation and just a colony.

**America**: I'd gone out on my own, something Iggy said NEVER TO DO EVER, but I did it anyway. It was BORING back at the house, nothing to really do. And I'd decided to play in the creek that was nearby, I was young enough to enjoy light activities like that but old enough to be a little wiser about it then a five-year-old.

**America**: A few hours into my new game, France just showed up. At the time, I didn't find it odd, but now I know he came to "claim" me. *shudders* Anyway, we were just talking at that point, myself already halfway drenched in creekwater and my shoes coated in grime when he did something, I forget what, and nearly slid in. Iggy had taught me enough at that point that I ran right through the creek to push him back onto the bank, entirely soaking myself in the process.

**America**: So there I was, dressed in a sopping wet white button-down and pants, with France standing shakily on his feet, wide-eyed. But then he got what we all know now as the "perverted smirk" and decided that he had to thank me, really thank me for saving him and his clothes and his hair.

**America**: At that age, I feared the smirk.

**America**: Iggy told me it meant bad things...

**America**: Anyways, I started to try and tell him that "no, you don't have to, it's fine, really" when he grabbed me about the shoulders - Really grabbed me, pulling me up onto the bank with him and then he grabbed my chin and pulled my face upwards, crashing his lips with mine and, without my consent, shoved his tongue down my throat.

**America**: Okay, maybe not to that extreme, but _still._

**Russia**: ...France. I feel there is no need to elaborate...

**Russia**: He searches for the most opportunistic circumstances to take advantage of you... *remembers his best time and half-cringes*

**Russia**: Do tell me about the other kiss.

**America**: Right.

**America**: Anyway, I didn't like it. Not at all, he was too suffocating and I was JUST A KID and I couldn't BREATHE so I started thrashing and finally just punched him in the gut so that he dropped me and doubled over.

**America**: You can't blame me, France is just... France.

**America**: As he spluttered on the ground, I took the opportunity to run back to the house, deciding that, while France was out there, it was time to stop playing.

**Russia**: You seem to have been more sensible in your youth. Remind me, just when did the idiocy set in...? *eyes glimmering*

**America**: After entirely washing up, changing, and hiding the evidence of my fun, I came downstairs and there was Iggy, all prim and proper with just a slight hint of attitude masked by uncertainty of how to handle me. As always, I was happy to see him, really happy, he could keep France AWAY from my house and then I wouldn't have to deal with the frog.

**America**: *Glares*

**Russia**: *deceptively sweet smile*

**America**: Around the time you showed up. Ashen-haired people kill brain cells.

**Russia**: No, I distinctly remember your reputation for ignorance and rash impulsivity circulating for years before I ever came in contact with you, my dear~.

**Russia**: But we digress. Please, continue.

**America**: All lies.

**America**: Alright, sure.

**Russia**: Ftttttttttttttt.

**Russia**: *eye roll*

**America**: ... Whatever.

**America**: So, as usual, Iggy was awkward and slightly confused. I got him to play a few games with me, though, and then... Well, he found my discriminating evidence.

**America**: I got yelled at.

**America**: Until I told him that France was here...

**America**: He made me tell him the entire story, leaving shortly after to beat the shit out of France. I know because I decided to follow him...

**America**: So, anyway, after France was reduced to a bleeding mass that just wouldn't die, he came back to me and asked "Is there anything that I can do, undo his..." Here he glared in the general direction of the Frenchie. "Evil perverted mischief?"

**America**: And, at that time I had a crush on Iggy. I really did, I can relate it to some of those girls in Japan's comics... Whatever they're called. So, I said "Yes, there is. Get his taste out of my mouth." Iggy offered to cook. *Shudders* I used to think it was good cooking then, but that wasn't what I wanted and I told him so. So he asked what he could possibly do, and I told him, "This."

**America**: And then I kissed him. It was sweet, chaste, but it slowly got a lot hotter the second he realized he wanted it too. He started getting dominating - not as much as France, but still somewhat. He didn't force his tongue down my throat, but lapped at my lips instead with an amazing gentleness. Until I decided that I was old enough to- Oh yeah, forgot to tell you I was physically around 15. Until I decided that I was old enough to have a little more than this gentleness and I took the lead, entering his mouth slowly, trying not to act like The Pervert.

**America**: I remember he tasted like tea... And bread... with an underlying hint of alcohol, which I only identified much later.

**Russia**: It's astounding that you can relate your first kiss with such detail. I'm afraid my own recountment will seem far lacking. But then again, you have merely two and a half centuries of memories to contend with, while my first kiss occurred over one thousand years ago. *slight, ironic smile*

**Russia**: It was with the Roman Empire.

**America**: O.o

**America**: Italy's grandfather?

**Russia**: Yes... do you see something wrong with this? *eyes narrow suspiciously*

**America**: My brain is just dying with all the... people you have been with...

**America**: So...

**America**: Strange...

**America**: France, Spain, Romano, Sealand, a human...

**America**: ...

**America**: Ancient Rome...

**Russia**: Америка, I believe I have slept with the entirety of the European continent at one time or another. *flippant smile*

**America**: ... *Massages temples* My head hurts...

**Russia**: Not to mention the myriad assortment of humans who have struck my fancy... *types this with a completely straight face, then breaks into a mocking grin*

**America**: J- Just get on with it. *His sense of jealousy begins to arise within him but he decidedly quenches it, attempting to reason that you are ancient, it is only natural for you to have had more lovers than you can count...*

**Russia**: *clicks his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth* The Roman Empire... he was somewhat of a role model to me, I suppose. He was the first nation I came in contact with for a prolonged period of time, and had a great influence on my developing culture. *short exhale* Nnnn... my memories of the actual event are hazy, forgive me.

**Russia**: I met him near my westernmost borders, and we... perhaps it was not a first kiss in your sense of the term. It was more of a way to consummate an agreement...a thank-you, a reaction to a gift. I didn't feel anything for him, romantically, but he imparted Christianity to me, and at the time it seemed... an appropriate response. Young as I was, I still towered over him... I believe I initiated the kiss, which was at first just an awkward brushing of lips, as I was at a loss as to how to move my mouth to invoke a pleasurable sensation. He rapidly took control of the kiss, and coaxed my shy lips into the appropriate shapes... He was an excellent kisser, although I wouldn't have known it at the time.

**Russia**: He slipped his tongue into my mouth, and it was the first time I ever recall shivering sensually. His breath was sweet, cloying, like fine Italian wine, and his whiskers were sharp and uncomfortable against the tender skin on my chin and throat.

**Russia**: I... what struck me most was the warmth. I'd rarely encountered it before, and never as intensely. Once it was experienced, I became infatuated - driven to attain the slick, moist heat.

**Russia**: So began a brief era of arbitrarily pursuing, cajoling, and kissing humans... *closes his eyes and gives a light, inaudible hum, as if scoffing at his eccentricism*

**America**: *His mouth opens and closes, the starts of words on his tongue but they die before actually becoming legible* K- Ro- You- Heat... *His eyes become lidded in a mocking disbelief* You sound as bad as France. Seriously.

**America**: So now I get to blame Ancient Rome for your obsession?

**America**: It's like you're OCD about it or something now.

**Russia**: *eyebrows furrow slightly in irritation* Well... if you put it that way, yes. You may blame Ancient Rome.

**Russia**: *directs a frigid glare at the screen* I firmly believe that I would be infatuated with heat no matter whether I obtained my first kiss from Ancient Rome, England, or Romania. Anyone, perhaps, with the exception of Mongolia.

**America**: Then I'd blame anyone. As long as it isn't all my fault...

**Russia**: In that case, it most certainly is _completely _your fault. *smug smirk*

**America**: No take-backs, little pony, you already said that I have all the rights to blame Rome.

**Russia**: ...*hums lightly, unabashedly disregarding your previous statement* It is your turn for a question, dear.

**Russia**: ...Or are you still hung up over the fact that I spent several centuries pursuing humans at my leisure?

**America**: *scoffs, ignoring the question* Fine then, if you're going to be like that, then what is it that you miss about me? It's got to be something if you're losing sleep over it.

* * *

**It's my (Rhen's) job to cut chapters… So deal with the cliffhanger! Or be… um, French-kissed by my cat or something. Not have your vital regions invaded by Prussia… You might enjoy that… No, you'll probably definitely enjoy that… So yeah. Frenchied by my cat.**

**Reviews are appreciated! A lot!**

**OH! And, um, it's kinda my fault but I got elepaio hooked on Kuroshitsuji (and if I had the chance, I'd show all of you it too) and we have become obsessed with Grell and Sebby. So… We may lag in this roleplay, but we will not abandon it! I am determined to roleplay a lemon (yes, I am a pervert. So sue me)!**

**elepaio adds: You know the time when Russia said Moscow instead of Washington? I'm **_**so**_** embarrassed by that… but, hey, we were roleplaying at three in the morning! Not exactly completely coherent! That's a valid excuse, right…? X'D**


	4. And Sweetness

**Rhen's A/N: We bring you this chapter insanely earlier than normal!~ Why do we do this?... *hangs head* Because we took so fucking long last time, this is our apology. **

**I have to be honest. We really haven't been doing this often... Too busy being insane and obsessing over Kuro. Grell-soul seems to be overriding my America-soul, though I may still be able to tap into him a little. But I digress. This is a warning, don't expect frequent updates- We are morons who can't focus on two things at once (This does not include school hours, when I write my fanfiction).**

**On the subject of that: School for us starts soon, and for me, that means I write more of my oneshot lemons. I'm uncertain what that means for elepaio... But I'm 75% certain that this roleplay will turn into non-priority, with our advanced classes (yay, we is smart~) and my dedication to follow Bocchan everywhere.  
**

**elepaio's A/N: Wow. We have an actual plot. Who knew. ^^ **

**We deviate from the pattern of humor/ scathing insults/ silliness in this chapter in favor of angst, sweetness, and a little dash of sappy, and then back to normal midway through. All my fault… XD (Rhen likes humor/ silliness /sex in fanfiction, while I prefer angst/ sweet stuff/ sex.) Hahaha~ I have had my way with this roleplay at last…**

**Random Help Wanted Advertisement:**** Is there anyone reading this who can understand Japanese well enough to translate, and would be willing to translate a yaoi doujin for me? It's called Love Hunter, is from the anime/manga Kuroshitsuji, the pairing is SebastianxGrell, and it's about 50 pages long. If you have any clue what I'm talking about, or even if you don't have any clue and just like yaoi, please let me know in a review/PM if you would be willing to do this. I'd take a prompt and write you a oneshot in return. Or maybe even pay you… depending on how desperate I am by that point.**

**Disclaimer: If we owned Hetalia, it would be R-18. *¬***

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**Russia:** What...! That's... not fair, Америка. *runs his fingers along the miniscule grooves between the keys, dislodging miniscule fragments of dust so as to prolong answering America*

**Russia: **Fine. I... I miss the sex. That's it. *casts a deflated, forlorn glare at the tray table on the seat-back in front of him*

**America:** *scoffs again, recognizing that Russia is being difficult* Yeah, right. Like you'd lose sleep over no sex?

**America:** I don't believe that.

**America:** So tell me more.

**Russia:** I... *clenches his hands into loose fists, staring remotely at the screen, unnerved by how easily America has derrailed him* I've answered the question as dictated by the rules of the game. I believe this is more than adequate.

**America:** I don't. That's... barely anything! Come on!

**America:** Besides, it's impossible for you to be telling the truth.

**America:** You're the one that's had a relationship with everyone in Europe. *Forces away the jealousy* I bet if you tried, you could again. Which means that your hunger for sex isn't that bad. Which means that you have to be lying.

**America:** ... *blinks, finding implications within what he just wrote* But you're not allowed to have a relationship with any other nation. Just letting you know.

**Russia:** Stop it.

**Russia:** The question is answered.

**Russia:** It is _enough._

**Russia:** ...Leave me alone.

**Russia**: *his hands begin twisting into his scarf, seeking refuge and reassurance*

**America:** Give me a better answer. *He knows that he's going to be in trouble from what he has already done, so decides to push his boundaries*

**America:** *He feels sore inside, as if he's overstepped something, but refuses to back down*

**Russia:** *he minimizes the messenger window, effectively ignoring America, and sits, gazing blankly into ripples and ridges of clouds visible through the passenger windows*

**America:** Hey.

**America:** Hey!

**America:** It's been ten minutes.

**America:** You're too quiet.

**America:** Are you ignoring me?

**America:** Stop ignoring me.

**Russia:** Америка... *if he had been speaking, the words would have been filtered through gritted teeth* I thought I had requested that you leave me alone. Is it not polite to respect your significant other's wishes? *cruel, twisted smirk with a trace of sadness*

**America:** Hey, you're the one always going on about how I'm not polite. I'm just living up to your standards.

**America:** And, because I'm not polite, I can say this:

**America:** That picture I have?

**America:** The one with you all blushing, wearing garters, and begging for more?

**America:** Ever heard of Facebook and Myspace?

**Russia:** ...I would _prefer_ if you left that out of this. *blinks cooly, giving the semblance of being unperturbed* I am not really... in the mood... for such trivial matters... _'Please. Stop pushing me.'_

**America:** Fine. *raises hands in mock-surrender* Trivial won't do me much good, anyway.

**America:** But I'm curious now.

**America:** Which means that I'm probably going to sit here and spam you and never answer the question myself.

**America:** So we'll get nowhere.

**Russia:** ...That is currently of no concern to me. *the phrase is so cold it is as if it causes the surrounding air to condense into ice crystals*

**America:** What's the problem with telling me anyway? *He feels almost hurt, actual hesitation creeping into his body* It's not like I'm going to run off and tell... um... That guy to the north of me... Or England, or China, or Prussia or Ukraine, _definitely_ not Belarus. I'm the only one that'll know. *He presses on, determined to find out*

**Russia:** I... *trails off into stagnance, unwilling to express the thought which is so laughably lucid at the forefront of his mind*

**Russia:** I do not wish to tell you. Why must you pry?

America: Because it's something new, it's something interesting, and it's something about you that I don't know. I want to know. *The mockery has long ago fallen from his face, leaving him entirely focused on getting his answer*

**Russia:** Америка. _I do not wish to tell you._

**America:** You're not telling me what it is. You're also not telling me why you're not telling me. *His head hits the back of his chair as he thinks over what it could be* What do I have to do, Russia? To get you to trust me enough for this? *He can't think of anything, either ways to coax out the information or what the information might be*

**America:** You don't want to tell me after I said that I won't tell anyone else... Which means that you're just being mean or that you're... afraid? Of something that only I could do after obtaining the information...

**America:** What if I promise not to do it, whatever it is?

**Russia:** ...Because you would be incapable of keeping that promise.

**America:** How can you know that? You can't. Not unless you _try_, Russia. I'm _America_. I can do anything as long as I put my mind to it. But I can't if I don't know what I'm supposed to be _doing_.

**Russia:** ...That isn't true. You are...

**Russia:** Incapable of taking anything seriously. *forces a rushed, shaky breath out through his nose, desperately aware of how pathetically vulnerable he sounds*

**America:** I was serious during the Cold War, wasn't I? For the most part. *He pulls his lips back slightly, unhappy with his own mention of the tense years* When it involved you.

**Russia:** I disagree, you were far from serious. Calculated and cunning, perhaps, but bitter and mocking to the end... You always have been, when it...

**Russia:** Regards me... *sits stiffly, every muscle tensed, fearful, nervous, and above all afraid of America lashing back at him, yearning more than anything to sign out and close the laptop for the remainder of the flight*

**America:** Bitter and... mocking... *He lapses into a momentary silence, unsure where to go* Then I just won't be. If push comes to shove, I'll... shut up and change the subject. I'll... Maybe I'll take it like the Revolutionary War, quiet and thoughtful. Like when I saw Iggy... crying... *He looks, quietly downcast, at the keyboard, lacking the ability to conjure... something...*

**Russia:** ...Do I... have your word...? *drifts off, dizzied, reluctant, anticipating yet terrified of America's answer, clinging to the question like a lifeline*

**Russia:** You won't... _laugh_ at me...?

America: *blinks, surprised, only half-anticipating anything along those lines, more expectant of a wish to shut up and take the information silently* *His fingers twitch, catching themselves on a question that he quickly deletes* Cross my heart. *He does so, placing one hand over the invisible mark* I swear. _'I would have sworn to it - Whatever it was.'_

**Russia:** W-well then, Америка... the... things I miss about you... *He falters, mortified and ashamed, still entirely unconvinced that he should be sharing this with America*

**Russia:** *takes a shaky, shuddering inhale, and begins to type as swiftly as the thoughts come to mind so that he will not give himself time to think and reconsider his decision to speak*

**Russia:** I miss... seeing your eyes, without the glasses on... they are such a raw, unadulterated shade of blue... it seems fitting to call the color liberty. I cannot understand why you choose to stifle them behind false lenses... I miss showering with you - yes, I'm aware that it's only happened once or twice, because we're usually more concerned with... other activities, and we often depart too soon afterwards to even consider showering... on that note, I miss... the smell of your skin, when I lean in close and breathe you, but you wouldn't know because I'm careful to make sure that you're asleep... the softness of your hair, the way your eyelids fall half-shut and you bite your lip or pant my name or usually, just curse at me when I drowsily press lovebites to your collarbone after we've finished, don't reply, Америка, I'm not done speaking….

**Russia:** I miss how you try to stop yourself from screaming, how you make it a point to bite until we taste blood when we kiss, how you pick up all the wrong clothes and wear them home... (I still adamantly believe you took my scarf back to Nevada that time on purpose. That experience was thoroughly irritating.) I miss the rare times when we stay together for the duration of the night, and then when I wake in the morning you nuzzle close and won't permit me to leave... I miss how you insist that we eat at McDonalds every time I come to your place, much to my displeasure, and how you use my toothbrush and raid my refrigerator as if you own them when you're at my house. I miss the smell of your sweat, the sensation of your hands fisting in my hair... how you nuzzle up and hold me, when we share a bed, even though I feign disgust and command you not to… I miss the sex, yes, mostly, but it is overabundant when compared to the gentleness…

**Russia:** Honestly, when I am losing sleep over you, it is these little things that I remember. I miss being near you, I miss being warm… I… I miss how you're not repulsed or reluctant to touch me because my body does not exude heat…

**Russia:** Because… they've… always been scared. If not revolted by the cold, at least hesitant. You don't seem to care. And… sometimes… I…

**Russia:** It gets so cold, I forget what being warm feels like… it's just hollow, and empty… *is abjectly humiliated by all that he has just admitted, sinks into the seat, slumped, defeated, is almost on the brink of signing out and cutting you off rather than facing America's reply*

**America:** *He bites the knuckle of one finger, lost in the words*

**America:** Russia... How could...

**America:** How could you think that I would _laugh_ at you?

**America:** Not for this. Never for this. I wouldn't...

**America:** *He touches the glasses on his face, a gentle movement before pulling them off, setting them beside the computer screen* _'Just for now...'_

**America:** I... _couldn't_... mock you for this. Not ever.

**America:** It's... so much... like... mys- I have to answer the question too, right?

America: *He's hesitant, mouth half-open as he thinks, carding one hand through his hair*

**Russia:** *his fingers curl in and twist the fringes of his scarf, shellshocked, words eluding him* Америка... любовь, I... *the final traces of a smile disintegrate into sincerity, and his eyes soften perceptibly as he types the words which, if spoken, would be mouthed in the most fragile and earnest of whispers:* _Thank you. _

**Russia:** *the corners of his lips glide upwards ever-so slightly, and he murmurs the phrase aloud* I want to... _kiss_ you...

**Russia:** *...the person seated next to him mistakenly assumes that the words are intended for him, and seizes up in dismay, disgust, and abject horror, nearly going into hysterics*

**America:** *he sighs, the slightest hint of a sweet, caring smile pulling at the corners of his lips* Yeah. *he looks down, chewing the inside of his cheek and searching for appropriate words* ... Me too.

**America:** *He whispers the words, no one to hear him*

**America:** *he looks up again, an unconcealed light smile on his lips now* It's my turn to answer now, I guess.

**America:** I... miss... *he chews the inside of his mouth again, hesitant, recalling what he had sworn to himself earlier* _'I thought you would never know... I thought I wouldn't even try to tell you, but now...'_

**America:** I miss your smile. Sure, everyone else thinks it's creepy, but it's refreshing at the same time. I miss the way you touch me, the way you hold me, the way you sometimes obsessively search for heat (that does get annoying when I'm actually trying to do something, yes I'm sure you're going to say that's rare but whatever). I miss the times when you submit to me, the times you don't, I miss our arguments (they just don't have the same color when typed out) and our making-up. I miss the heavy sarcasm in your voice when I do something and then the fight we almost always get into after that. I miss the sex, the raw power of it... I miss your cold, even though I hate winter I love your feel. I miss holding you - So original, I know, but the truth.

**America:** *he licks his lips, staring at the keyboard, having more to say but unable to do so, not yet*

**America:** I... miss _you_.

**Russia:** *his eyelids glide shut and he gives a long, gentle sigh which melts into a purr, subconsciously running the thumb of one hand across the tips of his fingers as he pictures cupping America's cheeks, touch whisper-light, guiding his face upwards as he brushes back America's bangs, pausing momentarily to pluck off those insufferable glasses, and then tilting their lips together, sweet and soft and slow, breath mingling, so unlike the contemporary fierce, destructive, purely carnal kisses*

**Russia:** *his eyes flutter open and he clenches one hand into a loose fist, sharply jerking his eyes to the illuminated placards above his head as he contemplates how to best reply* I... that is...

**Russia:** *the thought trails off as he recognizes that he is not capable of properly expressing how greatly America touched him, perhaps managing to stretch past the shallow snowfall, reaching and beginning to thaw that first layer of inveterate Siberian permafrost... yet the phrase _I love you_ remains unutterable, too unwieldy... impossible to snatch back once articulated* I don't know... what else I can possibly say. I… '_love you'_ need to kiss you...

**Russia:** *he shakes his head self-contemptuously, inhales, and allows his fingers to skim and strike the Enter key before he can think sensibly enough to refrain*

**Russia:** I love you.

**America:** *he blinks, surprised by what Russia has said, stunned that he said it* Russia... *he feels warm inside, privately holding the confession where Russia would never see it, deep within him in a place he envisions Russia would deem as "weak"* Yeah. *he looks down again, staring at his glasses, eyes unfocused as he plays the words time and time again in his mind* Yeah...

**America:** *he looks up again, almost grinning, entirely glad that Russia can't see him, thinking that he must like an idiot as his fingers type out the only response he can deem as worthy at this moment*

**America:** I love you too.

**America:** *he stares at the screen for a moment longer, waiting for you to say something, anything, but his patience runs dry*

**America: **Hey, Russia... Are we still playing?

**America:** If so, it's your turn.

**America:** It's okay if you don't want to, though, I'm afraid your mind may have died after hearing that, *he flips one hand to the side, as if warding off some invisible presence, a devious smirk crawling onto his face* it might have been too much to take in. But I have no doubts that you'll recover and say something soon in revenge for what I'm about to call you... _My little pony._

**America:** *he is still coated in the warmth from the confession, but hungers somewhat for the normal arguments to return, looking for the danger in this conversation as it brings promise of what Russia says he is going to do; and he cannot deny he is excited*

**America:** So hurry up~

**Russia:** *blinks rapidly in a motion which nearly qualifies as a wince, drawing himself away from the stunned silence as America's tone becomes humorous again and then he makes... that comment...*

**Russia:** *draws himself up, affronted, ice slipping back into his eyes and smile as seamlessly as if it had never briefly retreated* Ahhhh... _you._

**Russia:** Fuck you.

**America:** *he grins, the normality of the situation settling well with him*

**Russia:** I believe I commanded you not to refer to me by that... _hideous_... endearment again. If your severely impaired brain was incapable of retaining that information, I would suggest firmly imprinting it in your memory now~ *his eyes gleam, barest hint of a purr*

**America:** I think that's impossible, little pony. *he nods, the grin still present on his face*

**Russia:** In that case I believe I will present you with double the surprise when I arrive~ *he laces the words with sugary innocence*

**America:** *he ignores the threat* Your turn~

**Russia:** Your question... *he contemplates the most efficient and amusing way of getting back at America for that irksome aforementioned comment*

**Russia:** The song that reminds you the most of me, or of us. Our relationship in general... *deviously smirks, having already made his selection for when the time comes to answer his own question* And send it to me, dear.

**America:** *he frowns, mind drifting over the thousands of songs that he has listened to, somehow settling on more modern music filled with lyrics and beats that are unorthodoxly orthodox* Erm... the first things that show up in my head are Sex and Violence and Gorgeous... The latter by someone flamboyantly gay.

**America: **For some reason, I think they fit.

- **You have sent 2 file(s) to Russia : Sex_And_3 / 3 –**

**(Readers: You must listen to these songs to understand Russia's response. Our apologies if you have a strong aversion to sex music… but, then, if you had a strong aversion to sex music, why would you be reading this perverted chat? *grin* Gorgeous: http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch?v=6XnRiaSK7vE Sex and Violence: http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch?v=HSLZXAXanrE [take out spaces on both links]) **

*listens to _Gorgeous_, then _Sex and Violence_, smirk intensifying exponentially as he realizes just how hilarious America's selections happen to be* Ahhh, _darling_. *grins ferally, showing a glimpse of teeth, eyes narrowed to near-slits* I was never aware that you consider yourself _so submissive..._

**Russia:** Enjoy being _invaded..._

**Russia:** That you do not mind when I attempt to _smash your heart to pieces..._

**Russia:** And _this_ is your version of living the American Dream...? *short, rough purr, causing the person beside him to again question his sanity*

**America:** What-fucking-ever.

**America:** *he scoffs, turning away from the computer screen for a moment, neither denying or affirming anything*

**Russia:** _"...with a bad attitude and a gun under my dress."_ ...I have one concern, about this particular line, however...

**Russia:** Do you consider this coat a dress?

**Russia:** Because if that is the case, you are quite gravely mistaken.

**America:** *he cannot help but snicker at the line, having entirely forgotten its existence*

**Russia:** ...America. _Answer me._

**America:** *he breaks out in little snickers every so often, unable to refrain from making the comment* Well, it's got the shape of one, the length of one, and it holds the best submissive one inside it at all times so...

**America:** At this moment, sure.

**Russia:** *tilts head ever so slightly* And what is that supposed to mean! Holds the "best submissive one inside it at all times?" I'm afraid your brain has become even more addled since the previous reply. _I_ wear the coat, not _you_, and I believe those songs have most _certainly_ confirmed that you are indeed the best submissive one.

**Russia:** ...I wonder how you managed to lower your mental capacity this time? Was it too many burgers?

**America:** I'm the _usual_ submissive one. *he glares at the words, although it is he himself admitting it* But _you_ are the best.

**Russia:** ...Unfortunately, my dear, I believe you have fallen ill with... ah, what was it called...? _Mad Cow Disease._ You're acting delirious - I'm becoming quite concerned for your health. Tell me, darling, do you have a perpetual fever? Because I do recall you being quite warm when I came in contact with you last...

**America:** I'm a nation, I don't get Mad Cow Disease. *he scowls, irritated with Russia's attack on his second-favorite food*

**America:** ...And you know that the heat last time was entirely your fault.

**Russia:** .. How can you _expect_ me to resist sneaking - ah, no, that is a bit of a strong term, seeing how you indisputably _wanted_ me to do it – approaching you from behind when we were leaving that burger joint with our bosses? *mock injured expression*

**America:** *he bites his tongue, glaring daggers at the glasses on the tabletop and with a quick movement, he jams them back on his face, cursing quietly all the while*

**America:** Entirely.

**America:** Your.

**America:** Fault.

**Russia:** *hums lightly, casting a roaming gaze about the plane* It was not entirely my fault, you were rather, ah, shall we say, _quick_ in giving your consent. _You're so submissive~_ *short cackle which strengthens the resolve of the person next to him to summon the flight attendant and request another seat... if only he wasn't so _intimidating_...* I was quite surprised that we made it back into the White House without our bosses noticing our absence...

**America:** *he proceeds to attempt to ignore Russia, intent on not remembering the situation, as is the same with so many things you have brought up already*

**America:** *He thinks, slowly mulling over the situation, before a sudden, slightly evil-looking grin spreads over his face* *Entirely glad you cannot see him, he turns back to the screen, hoping Russia will play along*

**America:** Hey, Russia.

**America:** I thought of another song.

**America:** One moment, let me get it... It fits perfectly. *The evil grin refuses to leave, and quite frankly, he doesn't care at this moment*

**Russia:** Why do I have a feeling that this... *he sighs softly, shaking his head and pressing his face into the heel of one palm* 'Has something to do with "my little pony?"'

**- You have sent Russia 1 file(s): EPIC_PONY_THEME_3**

**Russia:** *deflates, steeling himself as soon as he reads the title of the song, then listens stoically for its entirety although the false, cheery, commodified, happy lyrics scald his ears* AMERICA. You are infuriating. *scowls fiercely, fuming* This is absolutely ridiculous. I believe you are drawing out this joke for far too long, _da!_ *again, the affirmative is used as an insult*

**Russia:** Unless it is merely the fact that your limited mental capacities remain unable to conceive of a more imaginative way of mocking me!

**Russia:** I cannot believe the standards you let yourself stoop to, selling this absolute shit to your youth.

**Russia:** Capitalist pig.

**Russia:** You disgust me.

**- Russia has signed out -**

**America:** And _you're_ the one flying to Washington.

* * *

**elepaio adds: That My Little Pony theme song is scarring. Seriously.**

**Rhen: Like OMG, my inner Poland went INSANE HAPPY HYPER PINK OMGOMGOMGOMG when I started playing the epic Pony theme song. *nod***

**(Rhen cackles maniacally. elepaio recoils in abject horror… http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch?v=ST2N-9ATKCc )**


	5. The End For Now

**After months and months of waiting… I finally update Sex Burns Calories! Finally! There are a few things you should be aware of, though.**

**i. This is unbeta-ed. I haven't even looked it over twice. There may be innumerable errors- Sorry.  
ii. ****I don't have /any/ links in this chapter. Not a one. "Russia" might.**

**I have nothing more to say. I feel uninspired. Sorry.**

* * *

**America**: *sighs, grin deflating*

**America**: Don't care if you see these messages... I went too far?... Che. You're really, really too sensitive over My Little Pony.

**America**: *minimizes window, bringing up Internet Explorer, intent on searching for something until you decide to come back*

**-Russia has signed in-**

**America**: *blinks, returning the screen up* Hello.

**Russia**: *eyes narrow acutely, smoldering* Imbecile.

**America**: Hey, I'm being nice now!

**Russia**: As if I believe you, Америка.

**Russia**: Are we in agreement that you shall no longer refer to me as "My Little Pony?" *glares, gaze frigid enough to cause Florida to ice over*

**America**: *he bites his tongue, unwilling to let the joke pass (it was insanely fun, after all), but equally unwilling to give you another chance to sign out*

**America**: ...

**Russia**: Well? I demand a response.

**America**: Fine. 'I'll just find something else to call you... I can't get away with "cute horsey," can I?'

**Russia**: I'll grudgingly accept that.

**Russia**: Now, dear, would you care to hear my song selection? *smiles with deceptive innocence*

**America**: *blinks, plotting set aside for now* We're still playing?

**Russia**: Of course. *shakes his head bemusedly* You really believe that I would permit you to get away with that... atrocity without attempting to retaliate?

**America**: *leans forward, now entirely suspicious*

**Russia**: I'm sure you will find this song quite enjoyable. It is rather replendescent of our relationship, as I see it~ *gives a low purr*

**You have received 1 file(s): When_You're_3**

**America**: *he opens the file, suspicious at your words, listening to the song with a slightly skeptical look*

**America**: WTF

**America**: *his eye twitches at the lyrics, staring at the magic-bright pictures on Windows Media Player in slight shock*

**America**: ... This is why you don't ever listen to me?

**America**: *the first thing that jumps to his mind is the first thing written, the enter key pressed too fast to delete the letters*

**Russia**: Ah yes, darling, that is entirely possible~ *self-satisfactory smirk* It was to your liking, yes?

**America**: ...

**America**: NO. *he intends a brain-dead, monotone voice over the internet, while in reality he swears every few seconds as the acursedly strange lyrics continue to replay in his head long after shutting the window*

**Russia**: But, dear, the lyrics are intended to be romantic~~

**America**: "When we get mad together and have angry sex"

**Russia**: Yes...? This is how it occurs, is it not?

**America**: "Just want to make me take off all your clothes"

**America**: One, you just sounded like France, and two...

**America**: THIS IS ROMANTIC?

**America**: "And sex you all over the place"

**Russia**: America, you are incredibly adorable when you are mad. Of course it is romantic. I do not believe I am aware of a song that holds more romantic connotations than this. Except, perhaps, that song entitled The Horror of Our Love...

**America**: ... *curiosity getting the better of him, he turns to search up the newly mentioned song*

**America**: *at the first line, he stills, wondering* 'What. The. Fuck.' *he stares at the screen, attempting to understand your entire concept of the word "romantic"*

**America**: *He decides that it's entirely different than his and that he needs to play along so that you don't leave again*

**America**: O... kay.

**Russia**: What is that supposed to mean? *small frown*

**America**: This one's a little more... forceful and... different than "When You're Mad"...

**Russia**: Much more romantic, correct? It is a lovely song~...

**America**: If... if you say so.

**Russia**: It seems you do not grasp the concept of "romantic"... ah, if only you were intelligent enough to understand Russian... then I could show you some truly remarkable songs.

**America**: It's different music than what I'm used to, that's all. *he maintains the guise of a person who somewhat understands for now*

**Russia**: Never mind. It is quite above your level of comprehension.

**Russia**: Nnnnn... Америка, those selections were merely intended to mock you. Would you be interested in hearing the song which I feel truly represents our relationship...?

**America**: ... Alright. *he watches the screen, half-expecting some other new, creepy, strange music*

**Russia**: Here you are~...

**You have received 1 file(s): Where_Would_You_Like_Them_Left_.mp3**

**America**: Nothing to hide...

**America**: Don't we have... a lot to hide?

**Russia**: I do not perceive it within the... emotional sense of the phrasing. I am, of course, also disregarding the government secrets we must keep from each other. "Strip for me, I'll strip for you, I have nothing to hide and less to loose..." I see it as entirely carnal, within these connotations... often, Америка, I feel that our relationship dwindles down to mere sexual desire. We meet, we fuck, and we depart, with the exception of a few memorable occasions where we actually spent the night together. So, physically, I feel as though there is nothing I am capable of hiding from you, and accept the resignation that comes with knowing it is unlikely that I will ever come to trust you.

**Russia**: ...Is this making any sense to you?

**America**: *he nods* Yeah. I guess.

**Russia**: America... I feel as if we are constantly acting under the pretense that we have nothing to hide and nothing to lose, rather than facing the reality that we attempt to conceal the most important things about ourselves from each other.

**America**: Attempt to conceal the most important things... Huh. *he looks down, feeling somewhat crushed, constricted, almost betrayed, not understanding the origin of the feelings enough to quench them* Yeah, I guess we probably won't ever trust each other, right?

**America**: *he shakes his head, angered at himself for feeling so weak for "no apparent reason"*

**Russia**: *gives a soft exhale, inspecting the fingernails on one hand, as he responds rather remotely and detatchedly* No... I do not believe it is feasible, while the memories of our years of hostility remain.

**America**: *he nods again, not caring that you can't see him, loath to say any more on the matter*

**America**: It... It's my turn to ask, right? *he puts the thoughts from his mind as much as he can, banishing the strange hurt*

**Russia**: Yes... go ahead. *he responds slowly, uncharacteristically subdued*

**America**: Okay... *he shakes his head again, searching for any question, legs proping themselves on the table as he reclines* Your favorite game.

**Russia**: That is quite obvious. Russian Roulette. I enjoy the apprehension, the tension, and the adrenaline rush that comes from risking certain death and surviving. Being a nation, the risk is minimal enough to enable me to play to at my leisure. As I'm sure you're well aware, it takes far more than a bullet to the head to kill us, so the game becomes far less foolhardy and suicidal.

**Russia**: *slight, languid tilt of the head, coupled with a narrowing of the eyes* There is, of course, another game...

**Russia**: It is quite rewarding to toy with you, America. *leans back, propping up his arm with an elbow on the armrest and resting his chin on his wrist* I like experimenting to see which minstration procures the loudest scream... *shallow, glazed smirk*

**America**: *he hits his face, almost hiding behind his fingers, but not because he tells himself that he would never hide from you, wondering why the fuck didn't he see this coming*

**Russia**: It is unfortunate that you always insist upon using lubricant, because you tend to writhe and shriek uncontrolably when I slam into you unprepared... It is truly saddening that since that one incident which occured around the time of what you refer to as the Cuban Missile Crisis you have been adamandtly opposed to repeating the experience again. It was quite pleasurable for me, I must say. *half-lidded purr*

**America**: IT HURT LIKE HELL.

**America**: NEVER. AGAIN.

**Russia**: But you enjoyed it... *countenance laced with false innocence*

**America**: No comment. IT STILL HURT.

**Russia**: Fffffffffffffttt. Whatever, Америка. There is no use attempting to deny that you liked it.

**Russia**: And your answer to the question...? *mentally readies himself to be exposed to a scathing attempt at retaliation along the lines of "best submissive one"*

**America**: I said no comment. *he frowns, searching for an appropriate response and suddenly smirks, remembering one but uncertain if he should take that path* 'Well, it's true so... I can just answer the question.'

**America**: Cowboy. I love to play cowboy, although once I didn't play cowboy, I was a cowboy and the adrenaline rush was horribly exiting as I rode after cattle and wild horses, sometimes on rocky ledges almost to doom. But now with the cities, there aren't many places to actually be one, so I resort to games...

**America**: I really hope you don't take offence. But you know when I play Cowboy the most, don't you? You're always present. And it's exhilarating, the ride and the following exhaustion. You're such a good mount, eager enough to buck and rear but when I tell you, really tell you, you stop and let me ride you out, no matter what you're feeling. And remember, all the fun we, or in this instance, I, have with guns? Russians aren't the only one that play with them, a good cowboy always has one, whether to urge on his ride or challange rivals. You seem to move faster, always, when I command you with it, a perfect mount, the best ride. I can't say I've ever encountered one any more thrilling, adrenalized, exiting.

**America**: *he's still smirking as he leans back, remembering the last time he was able to "play cowboy"*

**Russia**: *glowers at the mention of being "ridden", though thoroughly aware that what you chose to bring up is decidedly less offensive and humiliating than it could have been* Hmph. I have not actually found it too compromising to play "horse" in such instances. Do remember, dear, that it occurred with my complete assent, and that you would have been incapable of "riding" me unless I had given permission. Unlike so many times when I have been the one in control...

**Russia**: You look quite ridiculous in spurs and chaps.

**America**: I remember when I had to "break you in", you gave no consent on that one and I still had you tied to the rail as I hammered in, even though you thrashed and bucked and kicked and the railing broke near the end, and I still was able to do that.

**America**: You're just sore because every time I wear spurs and chaps you get dominated in some way.

**- You have sent 1 photo(s): Russia_is_best_on_**

**Russia**: Oh, fuck you. *scowls, sulking* FUCK YOU. That was not in any way amusing.

**Russia**: ...And if you intend to fight that way, I may just have to fight right back...

**America**: I'm not fighting, I'm just stating the facts as I remember them. 'Whether that's a fight or not, whatever.'

**You have received 1 photo(s): **

**Russia**: Remember this, dear cowboy? When I tied you up?

**Russia**: ...And that picture is, again, a courtesy of our dear friend Hungary... *wince*

**America**: ... When'd you get a camera in ther- Oh.

**America**: ...

**America**: WTF.

**America**: *he seethes loudly, not a word typed as he shouts at the computer, both at being seen by the crazy-insane female pervert and at being reminded of his, actually many, forcefully taken times*

**America**: ... I can't believe you didn't notice a camera there.

**America**: And that time doesn't count. I consented to being tied up.

**America**: ... I just didn't consent to being that tied up...

**Russia**: ...We should have anticipated a camera. After all, this occurred following that world conference held in Austria... I'm positive that Hungary has installed "surveillance" devices in every corner of that country.

**Russia**: Ah yes, but you consented~ *sugary smirk* I merely determined the parameters.

**America**: ! THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU? You're supposed to be the one that thinks these things through!

**America**: ... Fuck you.

**Russia**: ...Actually, Америка, in most situations, I could not care less about being photographed while invading you. It is only when it goes the other way around and I am wearing embarrassing garments that I begin to be concerned about such matters.

**America**: ... But you were so cute, so desperate~ *he can't help but rub it in*

**America**: I like that picture.

**Russia**: And for every time I have appeared that way, there have been ten such incidents where you were the one moaning and screaming. You would do well to remember that in the... very near future. *menacing grin*

**America**: *he shivers, starting to reconsider meeting you to endure your plans*

**Russia**: ...Well? No mocking comeback? Have I outwitted you once again? *flippant smirk*

**America**: *he scowls, temper flaring in an instant* I'll make you eat those words, Russia.

**Russia**: Hnnn~ I am afraid you have become confused again - it is impossible to eat words, they are intangible substances.

**America**: ... You have no knowledge whatsoever on figures of speech, do you?

**Russia**: I am well-versed in Russian figures of speech. Your ridiculous American ones are below me.

**America**: *his voice drips with sarcasm* Suuuuuuuure. That's just rude, you know?

**Russia**: Of course. I'm completely aware~ *contentedly brushes you off*

**America**: ... This coming from the nation who's word for Red Square is "bullshit". *He makes a face, knowing he could do better, but it's beginning to get late - Not nearly too late, just late - and he feels too lazy to look for more dire attacks*

**Russia**: Yes, and at least six towns in your country are named "Cumming." You couldn't be any more subtle, could you?

**America**: At least I'm not like Austria. When Iggy gets drunk, you can't shut him up about Austria's "Fucking".

**America**: AND I DON'T NAME MY CITIES.

**Russia**: Perhaps you yourself do not name your cities, but their names are often designated by a significant event which has occurred in the area, yes~? *his eyes sharpen, gleaming*

**Russia**: I would very much be interested in knowing the circumstances which caused each of these "Climaxes" to occur... *slight chortle*

**America**: OFTEN ISN'T ALWAYS!

**Russia**: ...It seems I've struck a nerve. *grins*

**America**: *he almost growls at the screen, a light blush on his face (from anger, he tells himself), wishing more than anything to rub "my little pony" in your face once again* Bullshit. *he is determined to say nothing more on the matter, lest you get any new ideas* Your question, las niyah bopka.

**America**: *with what little Russian he knows, he knows this is nothing like an insult but it seemed the best thing to substitute for his previous endearment*

**Russia**: *blinks* Is that intended to be... derogatory?

**America**: Not particularly. I just wanted to call you that.

**Russia**: Why darling, I am quite pleased that you like my ass~...

**America**: It's so fuckable. And so accepting... *nod*

**Russia**: *amused smirk instantly dwindles into a sinister twist of his lips* And yours isn't?

**Russia**: I believe that this is yet another thing which I will have to reconcile when I arrive... *purrs with anticipation*

**America**: Hey, I'm not the best submissive one here, only the usual one. You take me in so quickly, even if you're spitting angry words in Russian and trying to get out of whatever situation I put you in, your body's always eager for me~

**Russia**: That's only because you're so small, Америка. Of course it would be much more difficult for me to enter you.

**America**: FLORIDA IS NOT SMALL. *he does growl now, nerves struck at your attack on his above-average size in comparison to your much larger endowment*

**Russia**: It is miniscule~

**Russia**: ...But this is leading us nowhere. We have discussed this matter before.

**Russia**: Care to hear my question?

**America**: Go ahead.

**America**: *he's clipped about it, form slightly hostile, unwilling to continue the debate but loath to let you have the last word*

**Russia**: Your favorite flavor of lube.

**America**: *he coughs, staring at the screen, anger deflated from the sheer randomness of the inquiery*

**America**: Vanilla. It's sort of sweet-smelling and creamy. Stawberry's nice, but too fake, and cherry's sort of sour. Chocolate is interesting but also as fake as strawberry, and I'd try a cinnamon if they had it but as far as I know they don't. And others that I've seen that appear interesting but I haven't the time to really try them: green apple, cherry cola, bubble gum, mint, pina colada... Among others.

**America**: There's a lot of creativity in this department...

**America**: There's even watermelon.

**America**: And... um, banana...

**Russia**: Hnn. I suppose it is not surprising, that your favorite flavor is vanilla, considering your... shall we say, endearment to it.

**Russia**: Then why is it that at your house the only flavors I recall us using are orange, cola, and nonflavored...?

**America**: *eyes narrow* No comment.

**Russia**: Was it perhaps purchased when you were with a previous lover? I would not assume that England would have a preference for cola flavor, considering how adamantly he condemns it.

**Russia**: Or possibly - oh yes, this is far more sensible. - Received as a present from France?

**America**: Some of it, yeah, present from France, but I do get my own when I want to, and no, not from my years with Iggy, that was a long time ago.

**Russia**: ...You are quite entertaining, dear. I cannot fathom why you refrained from commenting. *leans back in the seat, chin tilting upwards as he stretches his neck and gives a brief, wide yawn, realizing that he should intend on sleeping soon as it is growing extremely late*

**America**: I... just don't want to. It's technically none of your business.

**Russia**: Whatever. *quick flick of his pupils intended to suffice for an eye roll*

**Russia**: My favorites...

**Russia**: My initial preference is watermelon, as should seem quite obvious. Surprisingly enough, it does not taste too artificial or sickly sweet. I like coconut, and would be interested in trying peach or plum... although it is always better without, don't you agree? *maliciously slips in the reference to the single incident where he fucked you without lube, smirking deviously*

**America**: Go fuck yourself on a waterpipe and eat a scone, you and your sadistic streak both.

**Russia**: Mmm-hmm. *smiles slightly, absolutely unfazed* Darling cowboy, go ride a rattlesnake. Or perhaps a wolverine.

**Russia**: ...I also believe I would like to try butterscotch flavor...

**America**: But I'd rather ride you, you're a perfect mount, you and your las niyah bopka.

**America**: And... why butterscotch?

**Russia**: Your ass is nicer. So tight and warm.

**Russia**: Butterscotch, because has the concept of trying something because you believe it will taste good ever occured to you?

**America**: Just never saw you for butterscotch... That seems like something... that guy to the north of me... Oh, Canada!- might use.

**Russia**: I am almost certain that Canada would prefer maple. What is so fundamentally wrong about me wanting to use butterscotch? *quirks one eyebrow, still grinning lazily*

* * *

**Elepaio is no longer going by that name. I can't spell her current one, so I'll update who you should PM for links later… Kay? I don't know if she has them still, but it's worth a try.**

**I, Rhen Nightshade, bring you depressing news.**

**This roleplay is on indefinite hiatus. Why? I'd tell you, but I'd burst into rant, so let's suffice to say that the roleplay died. Just rolled over and kicked the bucket. I didn't want it to die, but it just did… Very sorry. I apologize tenfold.**

**Well. I'll see you again if I write anything more, or if by some miracle this becomes one of the undead (living)…**


End file.
